


Something Old, Something New

by MetaphorCheese



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Single Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaphorCheese/pseuds/MetaphorCheese
Summary: When Aziraphale moved back into his childhood home above the bookshop, he thought his life would settle down.Little did he know that a little boy and his father would saunter vaguely into his life and change it forever.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Comments: 5
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

The sun cast beams of light through the slightly-warped windows, catching on the floating dust particles like sparkles as it traveled to illuminate the tall, sturdy bookshelves. These looming shelves were made all the more intimidating by their nearly-empty nature. The rarest, most ancient tomes had been relocated into the shelves in the upstairs flat, out of sight and out of the official stock of the shop. 

The floor of the shop did not have the luxury of free space. Instead, it was littered with cardboard boxes filled with more contemporary works. Where the flat's off-limits books were collected and passed down for centuries before being inherited, these relatively new books were purchased from several libraries looking to thin out the inventory. They were already sorted in their boxes so the only thing left to do was shelve them and record the titles for future reference. 

That daunting task fell squarely upon the shoulders of the bookshop's new owner, Aziraphale Fell. He was not particularly looking forward to the task, as his middle-aged body already felt the strain of carrying the inherited books up that narrow staircase over the past few days, but he was determined to make his shop open for business within a fortnight of the day he moved in, a deadline that would be upon him when the weekend concluded. 

As he looked over the cluttered shop, his gaze fell on a dusty, old photograph in a dusty, old frame. His lips pressed into a fine line, his nose twitched disapprovingly, and he carefully stepped over a box of trashy romance novels, awful things where 'love at first sight' won out over reason and often led to rather steamy situations, in order to get to it. He pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket of his waistcoat and used it to wipe the glass of the frame, making the photograph, the memory, a bit clearer. 

A family stared back at him from within the frame. A mother, a father, and a young boy with white-blond hair that never would quite stay down, no matter how often his mother fussed over it. A mother and a father who could only be identified as such by the father's cold blue eyes reflected in the boy's own, the slight upwards tilt of the mother's nose, and the knowledge a child generally belongs to the adults he is photographed with. There was no connection between adult and child, however. There was no affectionate hand on his shoulder, no lap offered for him to sit upon. No guarantee of love. 

That photograph, Aziraphale remembered, had been taken when he was four years old. It had, in fact, been taken in the very flat that he now called his. He had also called it his back then, he supposed, as much as anything truly belonged to a four-year-old. The photograph had been taken to be a last farewell before they had moved away into the countryside. They had kept the building, of course; it had been in the family for generations and they did not need the money from selling or renting it out.

The family visited the city so very little that Aziraphale had completely forgotten about the shop until the solicitor had called him with the news that his parents had passed and that he had inherited it in their will. It had shocked him, quite frankly, that he had never been officially disinherited, after--

"No, no, that is quite enough of that," Aziraphale told himself, shutting the picture neatly in the drawer of the front desk. "You have plenty to occupy yourself with instead of working yourself into a fuss."

Determined to take control of his shop -- _his,_ now, not their -- Aziraphale rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, cuffing them neatly at his elbows, straightened his bowtie, and got to work. Trashy romance novels weren't going to shelve themselves, now, were they. 

~~

By some miracle, the books were all shelved and catalogued by the time Monday morning came around. Aziraphale had flattened all the boxes and placed them in a neat stack by the fireplace in the back room for extra kindling, leaving the floor of the shop clear for customers to mill about as they pleased. 

Customers were admittedly few and far between after the initial rush of curious shoppers died down. As expected, the newer books sold better than the older ones, for which Aziraphale was secretly grateful. Where so many of his own memories pained him to think about, the memories contained within the old books intrigued him. He often wanted to disappear within the covers, live in the worlds of old and fiction, and while he could theoretically bear to part with the books he'd left on the shelves, he'd much rather not. 

He had immersed himself so fully in one such book that he did not look up at the tinkling of the bell as it was disturbed by the opening of the door. What did cause him to pay attention was the whimpering cry that began shortly after the door closed again. Aziraphale quickly set his book down and looked up, but he found no obvious source of the crying. 

"Hello?" He stood up and peered over the edge of his desk. When his gaze fell upon a very small, very young, very distressed little boy, his tone quickly softened. He hurried out from behind the desk and knelt before the little boy, who really could not yet have reached three years of age. He offered the boy a gentle hand, which was immediately accepted and clung to with both of the boy's own. "Are you lost, little one?" 

"Lost," the boy repeated, voice thick with tears. His tear-streaked red face was framed by a chin-length bob of dark hair, and he wore a child-leash with a monkey on the front. The end, instead of being attached to the wrist of the boy's caretaker, trailed sadly on the floor. 

Before Aziraphale could do or say anything else, however, the door to the shop burst open, the bell drowned out by the loud bang as it hit the doorstop. A man rushed in, red hair falling out of what must have once been a neat bun, and scooped the boy into his arms. 

"Warlock, you scared me half to death!" the man panted as he held the boy tightly to his chest. He turned away from Aziraphale for now, clearly needing to calm his own panic before he could deal with anyone else. "You can't just run off like that! Especially not across the road! Are you hurt anywhere? Any owies?" 

"No owies," the boy, Warlock, answered tearfully, pressing his face into the man's neck. The man let out a long breath through his nose as he pressed a kiss to Warlock's hair. 

The man turned on his heel to face Aziraphale, who was watching the pair with a fondly curious expression. The man shifted Warlock in his arms so he could extend one hand to Aziraphale, who gave it a warm shake. "Thanks for looking after him. He's only just started running, and I thought the leash would stop it, but you can see how well that worked."

"It's quite alright, although I certainly don't condone running across a busy road if one is only knee-high, no matter how much one wants a second-hand book," Aziraphale smiled, giving Warlock a teasing wink. "As it is, and at risk of encouraging future behavior, I believe I have a nice copy of _Curious George_ that I could easily part with if you're interested, Mr…?" 

"Crowley," the man answered, one side of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile. "And we'd love that, Mr…?"

"Fell, but you can call me Aziraphale. Let me just find it, and would you like a cup of tea?" Aziraphale offered, his cheeks turning slightly pink at his own forwardness. 

"I'm afraid we really have to get going," Crowley answered, regret clear in his voice. "Perhaps you can bring the book to the little café up the road at two tomorrow, and then we can have tea. My treat."

"That sounds lovely," Aziraphale nodded, smiling in that bashful way that brings one's pink cheeks high enough to display the little wrinkles by one's eyes. 

"See you then, angel."

It wasn't until Crowley was long gone that Aziraphale regained enough mental capacity to realize two things. 

First, Crowley had called him 'angel.'

Second… Perhaps there was something to 'love at first sight' after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody!
> 
> I'm here with a new series! I anticipate this one being kinda long, but I don't have the entire plot mapped out yet. If you've got any ideas for this series, my Learn Me series, or any other ideas you might have, please let me know!
> 
> Have a great day!


	2. Chapter 2

For what was perhaps the first time in his life, Aziraphale did not arrive first to the… meet-up? Date? He wasn't sure, but he was still shocked to see Crowley already sitting at a table when he arrived. Usually, Aziraphale would find himself so anxious to be meeting someone that he'd show up nearly an hour earlier than whomever he was meeting, but it seemed that Crowley was also inclined towards showing up earlier. 

Before Aziraphale could think about turning tail and fleeing to gather himself as he usually would do alone before the other party showed up, Crowley's face split into a beaming grin. "Hey! Grab a seat, Aziraphale!" 

That smile. Good lord. It was as if Crowley had reached inside him and turned his anxiety off just by smiling and waving. Aziraphale smiled warmly back and hurried to sit in the open chair at the small table. "Hello, Crowley. It's good to see you again."

"Definitely." Crowley handed him a menu. "Get whatever you'd like, angel. My treat for watching Warlock, and the book."

"Oh! Oh, thank you," Aziraphale set the blue book on the table. "I really do enjoy _Curious George,_ as far as children's books go. Where is young Warlock today? Not running about, I hope?" 

"Nah, dropped him off at my neighbor's. I thought…" Crowley's cheeks were suddenly dusted with a darkening pink below where his sunglasses rested, and Aziraphale felt his own face reflect the blush. "I thought I might want to be on my own for our... date." 

"So it is a date?" Aziraphale inquired, the little lines near the corners of his eyes making an appearance as his smile only grew. "I wasn't sure, I must admit."

"It doesn't have to be," Crowley insisted quickly, a nervous hand tucking a lock of hair behind his ear that had managed to escape the ponytail he'd placed it in. "I mean, I just thought it might be nice to have a friend that was a bit closer to my age than my twenty-something neighbor, and Warlock seemed to like you, and--" 

"It can be a date, Crowley," Aziraphale interrupted softly, placing a hand over Crowley's. "Whether it needs to be anything more than friendship is yet to be seen."

"Bless my soul, is that Aziraphale Fell?" An older woman in an apron stopped in front of their table. "I'd recognize that hair anywhere!" 

Aziraphale quickly withdrew his hand, placing both in his lap. "Yes, that's me. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, however, for you know my name but I can't recall yours."

"Greta, dear. I'm not surprised you don't remember, you were rather young the last time you and I crossed paths, but I knew your parents well. Dreadful shock when they passed, wasn't it?" The woman loomed over the table, and Aziraphale felt quite small. 

"Yes, rather dreadful," Aziraphale nodded politely, methodically rubbing the bottom button of his waistcoat with his right thumb. The scrape of the ridge of the button over the soft pad of his finger was a common outlet for Aziraphale's nervous energy, although it had led to a bit more wear on that particular part of his waistcoat. 

"Imagine my surprise to see you here with a gentleman friend!" Greta's words caused Aziraphale to pale slightly, his nose twitching. The whole café was old, filled with people of Greta's age. Who knew who many of them had known his parents. Had known him. Had known just how much of a disappointment he was. "I thought it was just a rumor that you swung for the other team. I can only imagine what your mother would say--"

"Actually, we were just going," Crowley announced suddenly and authoritatively. A hint of a Scottish accent peeking through betrayed some emotion, but Aziraphale wasn't quite sure which one. In all honesty, Aziraphale was having trouble focusing on anything but his rising panic. Crowley took his hand, tucked the book under his arm, and stood. "C'mon, Aziraphale."

"Y-yes, of course," Aziraphale stammered, allowing himself to be led towards the door. He mumbled out some polite goodbye to Greta that he hoped was coherent before he was suddenly out in the fresh air. He took a couple deep breaths to calm himself before he noticed that they hadn't stopped walking yet. 

"Thought we could have a stroll around the park, angel," Crowley explained, squeezing his hand. "Much too stuffy in there."

"Yes, quite." Aziraphale walked with his head lowered. He was being rather silly. He was a grown man. What did it matter that someone knew his parents, anyway? _You wouldn't be upset if you didn't do something wrong,_ his father's voice rang through his head. 

He was startled out of his thoughts when the pavement under his feet turned to slightly-muddy grass and the ambient car sounds turned to the quacking of ducks. He lifted his head to get a better look at the pond they were now standing by. "Oh, how lovely…"

"Thought you might like it," Crowley grinned, absentmindedly stroking the back of Aziraphale's hand with his thumb. "Warlock likes to come here and play in the mud and throw bread at the ducks."

"You're not supposed to give them bread, you know," Aziraphale scolded softly. "It makes them fat and sick."

"I know, but there's no harm in a treat now and then, is there?" Crowley smirked, gently swatting Aziraphale's hip with their conjoined hands. 

"No, I suppose the occasional treat is alright," Aziraphale conceded, meeting his eye with a playful glance. "Especially when you're entertaining a toddler."

"Ain't that the truth," Crowley laughed, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose with his free hand. "I can't believe he's so big already. Already running off, finding all the cute boys."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale's tone of scandal was immediately proved false by the genuine smile on his face. "To paraphrase the lovely Miss Greta, what would his mother say?" 

"No mother," Crowley growled, his grip tightening on Aziraphale's hand.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have pried--"

"No, it's worth talking about," Crowley sighed, hunching his shoulders. "His parents gave him up. His biological father is a politician from America, and his mother is seventeen. The father didn't want the scandal of having a child out of wedlock with a teenager, and the mother didn't want to abort him. I used to work for the father, and I'm fairly good with kids, and I couldn't bear to have them ship the kid off to bounce around the system when I could guarantee a safe home. So I stayed on, easy adoption at birth, and then they sacked me to keep me and Warlock away from them."

"That's… that's horrible," Aziraphale remarked. He released Crowley's hand before wrapping his arm around Crowley's thin waist. "But you're so nice to have taken him in. I know how it is to grow up with parents who didn't want a child."

"You'll have to tell me that story some day. Especially if we're going to try for a second date."

"You'd like that?" Aziraphale asked, turning hopeful eyes away from the ducks to meet Crowley's gaze. "An official date?" 

"Absolutely, angel. How about you come over to mine on Sunday for dinner? It'll give you a chance to see what a little hellspawn Warlock really is. I could come by yours about 5ish to pick you up?" 

"I'd love that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> I have a very vague idea of where this one is going, but if any of you have anything you'd like to see in this, Learn Me, or another thing entirely, please let me know! 
> 
> Have a great day!


End file.
